


Debates and Dreams

by secretagentfan



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: Middle-of-the-night sleepy time debates and dream sharing in the underground room.Written for tea-for-you on tumblr as part of no.6 secret santa 2017





	Debates and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I never posted this so why not.   
> Bit of a frankenstein fic the first part is much older than the last part but hey. Content!

        Nezumi was dozing on the floor. Shion wasn’t a stranger to this particular occurrence, but he was however, extremely annoyed with it.

        Sharing warmth in the bed wasn’t a flimsy excuse to be closer– it was a need for when Nezumi’s pathetic heater froze through and the ratty sheets they shared weren’t cutting it. Their blanket, riddled with holes and stray threads that tangled in Shion’s toes, was barely functional. Nezumi however, was consistently warm, and the nights were only getting colder. 

        Shion looked at the sheet pile the boy had commandeered and bit back the urge to be irritated by the lack of his cranky heater.

        “Shion…?”

        He jumped, gaze flicking to the black tangle among the twist of sheets. Nezumi shifted, sitting up, unfocused eyes settling vacantly on Shion’s left foot hanging off the bed.

        Shion smiled despite his irritation. It was rare to get a glimpse of Nezumi like this. His body was relaxed for once, and the floor had left a slight imprint on his cheek where his hair stuck. He was cute.

        Shion had the sudden selfish impulse to not reply to his question so he could preserve the moment, hold onto the way Nezumi was right now, without all his guards and anger and rage. But then he wouldn’t be Nezumi.

        “What?”

        For a moment Nezumi looked confused, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he had to say either. He exhaled, and Shion knew he was really tired. Nezumi rarely sighed, and when he did, he would get this look in his eyes like he was punishing himself for the natural reaction. Instead of this, however, Nezumi’s eyes slipped shut and he shifted so his ear rested against the hard floor again. He spoke softly, calmly.

        “Have you ever fallen asleep outside, Shion?”

        Outside? Shion tried to remember. Before they’d moved to Lost Town he’d often spend late nights outside collecting samples off of various plants for his projects. However, he’d always returned home. The idea of sleeping outside seemed pointless to him when there was a warm bed waiting for him inside his house. And besides…the city’d never allow it.

        Nezumi’s eyes returned to his face, expectant.

        “No, I don’t think I have. No. 6 had a number of curfews in place and I couldn’–" 

        “Please tell me you’re not about to say ‘couldn’t’”

        Shion sighed, correcting himself, annoyed that even a half-asleep Nezumi was criticizing his language.

        “Not couldn’t then. I suppose I could but I didn’t. But only because I wasn’t allowed to go outside after dark—”

        “You did it again.”

        Dammit.

        “What did I do?”

        “You’re so quick to make others responsible for your actions. ‘You weren’t allowed to’, 'you couldn’t’ it’s pathetic. You always can. Don’t claim you can’t do something just because people will judge you if you do.”

        Shion’s eyes narrowed.

        “That’s not fair. Social constructs are necessary to communicate effectively to others. Otherwise–" 

        Nezumi practically sang, "We brutally murder our own citizens because those in power fail to communicate with others. Maybe we even have innocent citizens arrested just for witnessing our villainous actions– oh wait that’s already happened, excuse me–”

        “You know that’s not what I meant!”

        “Fair enough.” Nezumi’s voice dropped, low and serious, “Now, answer me this, Princeling. What were you doing before?”

        A weight settled in Shion’s stomach. “What?”

        “Were you utilizing social constructs to effectively communicate? Or were you hiding behind them to avoid facing your own guilt?”

        Nezumi’s relaxed smile had faded, replaced with a hard line. Gone was the sleepy boy Shion noticed earlier; Nezumi was awake now.

        Shion found himself without rebuttal. He was about to place the blame on the city rather than acknowledge the fact he hadn’t thought much about curfew. Obeying was natural. While Shion had often felt a sense of vague unease toward the city—curfew was never something that concerned him. It was just another part of life. But did that make Shion guilty?

        Normally, while harsh, Nezumi’s criticisms were informative. Shion was honored by them. Under Nezumi’s guidance he learned so much more than he had in the city. But times like this…Where Nezumi would attack, teach, and blame unprovoked: under his gaze Shion felt pathetic, insignificant. Weak. He sucked in a breath.

        “Do you even want to know why I couldn’t go outside? Or do you just enjoy correcting me as I attempt to supply a suitable answer to your question?”

        Nezumi hadn’t moved, hair pooled around his face, he smiled innocently up at Shion.

        “I really don’t care about the why, I can guess that shit for myself. That’s why I asked you in the form of a simple 'yes’ or 'no’ question. You on the other hand seemed determined to complicate matters.”

        Shion fell back to the bed with a soft thump. If Nezumi was going to be like that he’d just have to enjoy the floor tonight. And be without conversation. 

        “Hey, Shion.”

        No response, Nezumi clicked his tongue.

        “Are you ignoring me? How childish.”

        “Shion.”

        The boy in question curled up tighter, staring at the wall. He tried to ignore the way his name sounded on Nezumi’s lips. He was freezing, but he’d be damned if he was going to ask Nezumi for the sheets. Or for his warmth. He heard Nezumi shift.

        “Are you cold?”

        “No.”

        “Shion…”

        He felt the mattress shift with the weight of his friend and an entirely unwelcome hand on his back. Skilled fingers played with the edge of his flimsy cotton shirt. 

        “Shion, look at me.”

        He ignored him, the clicking began again, then stopped. The fingers vanished from his shirt and Shion had to shut his eyes to avoid grabbing them and putting them back to their previous position. It was quiet now.    

         “I—“

        Nezumi’s voice caught. He felt the mattress shift again, Nezumi adjusting, and heard a forced swallow behind him. He was struggling.

         “Shion.”

        Shion held still. Nezumi tried again.

         “Just now. I upset you. Actually upset you.”

        There was a stain on the wall Shion pretended to be fascinated by. Another pause. Another swallow. Nezumi shifted again and continued.

         “I went too far.”

        Shion turned, understood, and forgave. He sat up, elbowed Nezumi lightly before bending over and tossing the blanket and sheets over both of them. Nezumi elbowed him back under the blanket and Shion smiled.  

         “S’fucking cold. What time is it?”

         “Why did you ask me if I’ve slept outside?”

        Nezumi turned, made a face like he barely remembered asking the question, and leaned against the wall. Shion joined him.

         “I had a dream. It was supposed to lead into that.”

        Shion sat up again, Nezumi grumbled at the shift of the blanket. “Just now? You couldn’t have been on the floor for more than five minutes. How did you fall asleep that quickly?”

         “I’ve been working hard.” Nezumi hissed, just this side of defensive.  “Keeping your big head out of trouble is hell on my sleeping schedule. Case and point—this talking thing when we’re supposed to be sleeping.”

         “You started the conversation.”

         “I can end it too, you know,” Nezumi grumbled, flopping over and rather pointedly resting his head on Shion’s pillow.

         “Did you sleep outside in your dream?” Shion asked, amiably taking Nezumi’s pillow and pulling their blanket as tight as he could around himself before Nezumi could steal it too.

         “Sort of. It was closer to a memory. Or something.”

         “That’s not very clear.”

         “Well dreams never are,” Nezumi mumbled, tugging the blanket, but Shion held strong, and pretended not to notice when Nezumi’s back pressed against his chest in retaliation. It was cold. That was all.

         “What was the memory? Or something?” Shion teased, and for a moment he thought Nezumi didn’t hear him. He opened his mouth to ask again when Nezumi answered.

         “When one of Inukashi’s stupid mutts died.”

        _They’re not stupid,_ Shion wanted to say, but the tone of Nezumi’s voice made him stop. “Do you remember which—“

         “—No. It wasn’t specific.”

        Shion frowned. “That’s strange.”

        Nezumi adjusted again, rubbed his face. Shion had the sudden uncontrollable impulse to hold him, but tamped it out. It wasn’t the time.

         “It gets stranger.” Nezumi’s voice was barely a murmur. “I think _I_ was the stupid mutt, and I was hurt, but I was also there as a human, and I sang for myself.”

         “That’s a strange thing to dream about.”

         “I know,” Nezumi turned, facing Shion. He made a disgusted face. “Can you imagine?”

        His breath puffed against Shion’s face, but Shion didn’t mind.

        “Did you die from your wounds?”

         “What?”

         “In your dream,” Shion clarified. “You said you were hurt, and if you were singing for yourself, I’m assuming you must have been badly injured.”

        Nezumi seemed to think for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah. Probably.”

         “Then it’s lucky human-you was there to send dog-you off peacefully.”

         “Do you hear yourself, Shion?”

        Shion laughed a little, curling closer, and then it was Nezumi’s turn to turn away and pretend not to notice. Shion was nodding off when Nezumi spoke up, voice quiet and laced with something Shion couldn’t quite discern. Regret?

         “It wasn’t peaceful.”

        Shion opened his eyes. “What wasn’t?”

         “Dying. I sang the usual songs but I didn’t feel anything but how cold I was.”

         “That was probably because you were actually still sleeping on the floor.”

        Nezumi’s exhale was a louder release than Shion expected, something resembling a laugh but a little more…surprised?

         “Right you are, Shion,” he replied.

         “What’s it like to sing a…what did you call it?”

         “A dirge. Typically sung at funerals. Hardly counts when you’re singing for animals but there you have it.”

         “I think it counts.”

         “Well, his Royal Highness’s seal of approval and a lot of Inukashi’s silver coins are all that I need. I’ll keep doing it.”

        Shion didn’t reply, hoping his silence would work better than any attempt to verbalize his usual outright disagreement toward Nezumi for charging Inukashi for his services.

         “Everything costs, Shion.”

         “I know. It doesn’t make it right.”

        Nezumi didn’t reply. Shion found himself pulling away, even though he lost some precious blanket in the process. After a moment, Nezumi spoke up.

         “The songs I sing aren’t typical dirges. They’re just songs I barely remember learning about life: living, breathing, ’everything’s fine’ kind of songs. They’re meant to placate and calm without any sort of effort on the part of the listener.”

         “Inukashi said no matter what, the dogs you sing for start to relax.”

         “It’s a relaxing thought, ‘everything’s fine’. Frees you of any sort of culpability. I don’t mind offering it to dogs, but, as you know, when you offer that sort of thing to people…”

        “You sing for people at the theatre too though.”

        Nezumi scowled. “I get paid for that.”

         “You make their days easier, Nezumi.”

         “Don’t glamorize it. I force them to ignore what’s wrong around them. I get paid. That’s what matters. The songs don’t.”

        Shion frowned, sat up. The air was cold, but Nezumi had to hear this properly. The way he was talking now, his songs were no different than the city, which Shion knew couldn’t be right. “What if I pay you right now, then?”

         “What.” Nezumi sat up. “What the hell are you on about now, Shion?”

         “What if I pay for you to sing to me right now? Three silver coins, right? If you’re just doing this for money you can give me a song right now, just because I asked.”

        Shion’s sock had just barely connected with the floor, ready to grab his savings, when Nezumi’s hand gripped his arm.

         “Three silver coins is too expensive, Shion.”

        Shion frowned, challenging. “But Nezumi, I really want to hear you sing, and if you’re just singing for money then why does it even matter? The songs don’t, like you just said.”

        Nezumi froze, grip loosening on Shion’s arm. He exhaled, and Shion felt momentarily bad for pushing him when he saw that punished look appear on his face—but Nezumi looked up and met Shion’s eyes, confident and graceful even in error.

         “You’re impossible, and you win, fine. The songs I sing mean something. I just don’t know what and I don’t know why they do. Get back here, it’s cold.”

        Shion grinned, victorious, and a little relieved. He lay back down, and Nezumi pulled the blanket around them again, mumbling an assortment of Shion-related complaints.

         “You don’t know why they mean something?” Shion asked, quietly shifting closer. Nezumi didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either. Shion pressed on:

         “Where did you learn to sing, Nezumi?”

         “Haven’t we pushed each other enough for one night, Shion?”

        Nezumi pulled away, facing Shion, and for once his face clearly displayed everything he was feeling. He looked exhausted, and Shion abruptly felt guilt fill his body.

         “Sorry,” Shion replied, genuinely repentant. Nezumi shook his head and shut his eyes. Shion followed suit before he realized:

         “I’ve kept you awake, haven’t I? You’ve wanted to be asleep this whole time.”

         “Shion, do me an enormous favor,” Nezumi began dryly, eyes still shut. His hand abruptly covered Shion’s face, and felt up his head blindly, and found a home in Shion’s hair. Shion sighed.

         “Turn this off,” Nezumi ordered, patting his head and moving his hand to loosely wrap around Shion’s shoulders. “And go to sleep.”

        And while Shion wasn’t entirely ready to stop thinking as Nezumi advised, when Nezumi pressed his head into his shoulder—for warmth of course—Shion allowed his brain some rest.


End file.
